Fiddler's Green
by The-Lonely-Child
Summary: A young Irish violinist travels to paris france in search ofwork in the orchestra of the opera populaire. A possible ErikOC romance.  A little bit of Kay, a little of Leroux and a touch of the movie... please Read and review. This is NOT A SLASH FIC!
1. Cad Chauige Dhibh Dom' Chiapadh?

**Disclaimer-I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters I have never made any money from this and I probably never will. And Fiddler's Green is an old Irish folk song, I don't know who wrote it, but I didn't and I don't own it either, I am just borrowing it to make a title for my story... **

**Kilkenny, Ireland, June 16, 1878**

One deep starry night in late deep in the Irish countryside a lone figure slipped out of cottage door and ran silently across the moon soaked grass unobserved by mortal eyes. It paused a brief moment at the edge of the road and looked back at the cottage before turning away and vanishing into the darkness of the night.

**Paris, France, July 27, 1878 The Opera Populaire**

Monsieur Reyer rubbed his temples and suppressed a moan. He was holding auditions for the string section of his orchestra. Five of his best violinists and one of his cellists had all decided to retire at the same time, leaving his string section woefully weak.

If he had to listen to one more pampered brat who thought he could play the violin or one more desperate, second rate street musician he thought he would retire himself.

On the bright side four of the five violins and the cellist had been replaced. It was that final violin that he could not find. He seemed to have come to the end of the true musicians. He was about to give up for the day when he caught sight of a violinist he had not seen before. He was small and very slender, almost thin. He had a pale face with high cheekbones, framed with a riot of black curls and arresting dark blue eyes. Fingers that were exceptionally long and slender clasped an old violin tenderly about the neck.

"You, young man," He said pointing to the youth, "Come here!"

The youth looked up startled, "Me, sir?" he asked in a soft Irish lilt.

"Yes you, can you play the introduction to Chalumeau's Hannibal?"

"That I can sir."

"Very well then, let's hear it" he said gesturing to the boy to begin.

The young Irishman settled his violin under his chin and began. Monsieur Reyer closed his eyes in pleasure, every note was perfect, sweet, and even and clear. He played to the end of the piece without missing a note. When he was finished Monsieur Reyer gave the Irishman one of his rare smiles.

"Monsieur, you are hired! What is your name and where do you come from young man?"

"I am Collin O'Riley of Kilkenny Ireland, Monsieur."

There were snickers all around the room at the boy's soft Irish lilt. It was plain from the way he spoke that the lad knew little French, Collin flushed and looked defiant. Monsieur Reyer silenced the snickers with a glare.

"Come over here and walk with me and we will discuss the terms of your employment Monsieur O'Riley,"

"I request only fifty francs a week and a place to stay, Monsieur."

Monsieur Reyer blinked; he had expected to be asked for at least three times that much from such a talented musician, even an Irish one. "That sounds reasonable, you can stay here in the Opera house, there are several rooms available, and Madame Giry will show you to the one you may use. Rehearsals for our next production begin tomorrow morning at ten. "

"I'll be there, sir. Good evening Monsieur." With that the Irishman bowed and turned away to find the ballet mistress.

Monsieur Reyer shook his head. There was something odd about that violinist, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He shook his head again and walked back to his orchestra to speak to his other new employees and put the Irishman out of his head.

An hour later Collin was standing in his new room in the back of the opera surveying the dusty room with a small smile, it was larger and quieter than anything he had expected. It almost made up for having to leave Ireland… almost.

Madame Giry gave the Irishman a stern look. "You may live and work here Monsieur, but I will not have you bothering my ballet girls, do I make myself clear?"

Collin gave the ballet mistress a disarming smile, "Your lassies have nothing to fear from me, Madame, I'll be on me best behavior."

Madame Giry shook her head as she walked out of Christine's old room and closed the door behind her, thinking as she went that there was something that did not quite measure up about Monsieur Reyer's new violinist.

Fallon sighed with relief as Madame Giry left. The older woman made her nervous, she was entirely too clear sighted. She made a mental note to avoid her if at all possible.

Putting her back to the door she pulled off her shirt and then untied the heavy canvas she had used to bind her chest. She took her first deep breath in three days and pulled her shirt back on.

"Well Da," she said softly, "I've done it. I've made it into the orchestra, just like you always dreamed. Are you proud of your little girl?"

Wiping tears from her eyes she took out her violin and began to play an old Irish lullaby very, very softly, the tears running down her face as she played and thought of Ireland's green fields and of her Da's deep voice singing with her as she played. Little did she know that as she played another listened and smiled.

**Please be honest. And please review! I need to know how I am doing, this is my first Phantom of the Opera fan fic and I want to get it right. I am trying to write out the Irish accent, but its not easy, it should get better when I can get my hands on some books with good Irish dialouge... Please read an review- The-Lonely-Child**


	2. My Pan Esen Ow Kwandra As I was Walking

**Disclaimer; I don't own anything in this story except for Fallon, I don't own the Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters. I don't even own my car. If I did I would have better things to do with my life than write and review fan fiction. I hope.**

Although he had been present at Monsieur Reyer's audition, and had been greatly amused at the maestro's frustration, he had not been unduly interested in the proceedings and had been about to leave when he heard the soft Irish lilt and caught sight of the young violinist.

Unlike most of the rest of the people of France and England Erik was fond of the Irish and their beautiful island. Music seemed to permeate everything on the Island of Eire, from the rolling fields to the voices of its people. Despite more than eight hundred years of oppression, famine and poverty their culture had a spirit and beauty that refused to die.

As he watched 'Collin' play from his perch above the stage something dawned on Erik, who when he wished was more clear sighted than most people were. This was no Irish_man, _Collin O'Riley indeed!He almost laughed; the wise child knew quite well that no self-respecting orchestra would hire a female violinist, no matter how talented.

The laughter died before it reached his lips as he remembered another talented musician with brown eyes full of innocent laughter. He gazed down at the young Irish violinist, her dark blue eyes closed in concentration. She looked nothing like his Christine… and yet.

He smiled to himself as he left, deciding to keep an eye on this 'Collin'. As he left the sound of her violin faded and he wondered if she could play as well as she could sing…

The next day after rehearsal Fallon stumbled tiredly into her room and flopped gracelessly across her bed. She carefully arranged herself so that she lay with her head hanging down off the edge of the bed and moaned. It was more tiring than she had expected. It seemed as if four of the six hours they had spent rehearsing had been spent catering to the whims of the Diva….

One little thing after another, blown up all out of proportion, her dress was too long, her corsets too tight, her hat too heavy, the orchestra was too loud… Fallon felt her temper flare at the memory of Carlotta's screeching whine… At the moment she wanted nothing more than to get her hands on the diva's throat and silence that aggravating voice, if only for a few minutes.

She took a deep breath and sat up. No matter how much it would delight her, she could not throttle the annoying woman so she got up and did the next best thing. She pulled out her violin and began to play Fiddler's Green, an old Irish folk song that had been a particular favorite of her Da's. Her voice was passable, and though she knew it would never get it her onto the stage, it did not make anyone's ears bleed either and she began to sing softly.

_As I walked by the dockside one evening so rare_

_To view the still waters and take the salt air,_

_I heard an old fisherman singing this song,_

_Take me away boys, me time is not long._

_Chorus:_

_Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets_

_No more on the docks I'll be seen,_

_Just tell me old shipmates I'm taking a trip, mates,_

_And I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green._

_Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell_

_Where fishermen go if they don't go to hell,_

_Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play,_

_And the cold coast of Finland is far, far away. _

_Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets_

_No more on the docks I'll be seen,_

_Just tell me old shipmates I'm taking a trip, mates,_

_And I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green._

_When you get back in dock and the long trip is through_

_There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too,_

_Where the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free,_

_And there's bottles of rum growing on every tree_

_Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets_

_No more on the docks I'll be seen,_

_Just tell me old shipmates I'm taking a trip, mates,_

_And I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green._

_Now I don't want a harp nor a halo, not me_

_Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea,_

_And I'll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along,_

_With the wind in the rigging to sing me this song. _

_Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets_

_No more on the docks I'll be seen,_

_Just tell me old shipmates I'm taking a trip, mates,_

_And I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green_

When she was through Fallon lowered her violin with a sigh. The music had had the desired effect, she was no longer tired, and she was much calmer. It had also evoked memories of her voyage from Ireland. She had never seen the sea before leaving home and it had affected her in way she could not quite describe, so big and open, seemingly endless…

The song had also awakened memories of Da, of his deep, clear voice, so much better than her own, now silenced forever. She pushed that thought away before the tears could come. She needed to get some dinner and it wouldn't do for her to be seen crying in public. She was dressed as a man now and she needed to remember that, men did not cry.

She found a small pub not far from the opera house and managed to wheedle some soup and a cold beef sandwich out of the female cook with a good deal of Irish charm and a few francs. When she was finished, she paused outside the pub and wondered if she ought to go back to her room.

She looked around the city for a few moments and decided she wanted to take a walk before turning in for the night. It was a beautifully clear night and the air was warm. She picked a direction at random and started off that way blissfully unaware that she was being followed.

An hour later, she was back in her room and about to unbind her chest when she heard a sound coming from the full-length mirror at the other end of her room. Her head snapped up and she pulled her shirt back on quickly.

"Who's there?" She asked in a startled voice. No answer,

She walked over to the mirror and stared into it. All she saw was her reflection. She shook her head and turned away. She was about to resume undressing when there was a tap at her door. She sighed and went to answer it. She opened the door and gazed into the darkness.

"Hello?" She stepped out of the door and walked down the hallway a few paces, "Hello? Is there someone there?" She frowned and turned back to her room. She was so distracted that she didn't see the tall man in her doorway until she nearly walked into his arms.

**I know these chapters are pretty short, but bear with me, they will get longer as I sink my teeth into this story, my first chapters are always my shortest and generally speaking my worst... kind of like a season of star trek. Anyway Please read and review, I need to know what you think if I am going to improve this story. your humble authoress, The-Lonely-Child**


	3. An Cuimhin Leat An Oiche Ud?

**Disclaimer- I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. I don't own Erik, if I did I wouldn't be going to a dusty music shop for violin lessons.**

**Special thanks to my beta reader Funsmoke for her paitence while she helped me get the kinks out of this chapter. It wouldn't have been half as good without her help. **

Fallon just managed to keep from screaming in surprise and terror, as a scream would have given her away and she knew it. The man seized her by the arm and hauled her into the room kicking the door shut with a noise that would make a deaf man cringe.

Fallon writhed in his painful grip and glared up at him swearing roundly in Gaelic.

It was someone she had hoped never to see again. She looked into the face of her captor and shuddered. In the lamplight, his black eyes cold and unreadable.

"How did you find me?" she asked hoping she had imagined the quaver in her voice.

The man laughed, savoring his advantage over the girl "I know you well enough to guess where you'd likely go, and whose name you'd use. Really, I thought you'd be cleverer than to use your Da's name, but you're as foolish and sentimental as he was."

Fallon bit her lip and looked around for an escape route¦ there wasn't one. "What do you want?"

"You know well enough lass, daft as ye are, you aren't that stupid."

"I haven't got it, as you should know. Now let me go and get out of here."

"Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Yes, because it's true, now let me go."

The man let her go with a shove and she fell back against the far wall with a cry of pain. He started towards her and she scrambled away in fright biting back the urge to scream again. It would do no good, there was no one near enough to hear and even if they did, her scream would give her away as a female.

Erik was watching the girl again, he was about to turn when he saw her getting ready to undress, the years of training by his mother would allow for nothing else, when he heard someone approaching the door.

He had come to try to hear her play again. He had been there earlier when she had played and sung Fiddler's Green, and while her voice was unremarkable, her playing made him feel as though he was bathed in celestial light, the girl put her heart and soul into the music and it was one of the most beautiful experiences of his life. Like most musicians, next to playing himself, he loved listening to another talented musician play.

He turned to go, but stopped when he heard the girl give a muffled scream and saw her being hauled bodily into the room by a tall man in black.

He watched the proceedings with growing rage; he could not stand and watch while the vulnerable were abused. He listened to the man make his demands of the young violinist tried to decide what to do.

When the man released her from his grip and sent her stumbling across the room Erik saw that she was retreating toward the mirror and to his astonishment he found himself reaching for the trigger mechanism to open the mirror-door.

As soon as her back touched the mirror he pressed the mechanism opened the door and seized the girl around the waist, clamping his free hand firmly over her mouth and closing the door.

She screamed in surprise, but it was muffled by Erik's hand and he listened with satisfaction as the man gave a bellow of rage and beat the wall beside the mirror. Well, he could rage and pound all he wanted, only Erik and perhaps one other knew how to open the mirror door.

The man's face went through a series of expressions before settling on one of outrage. "I'll be back lass, ye can count on it! And when I get my hands on you will wish your parents had never met! You'll never be able to pick up that fiddle of yours again!" and with an oath he stomped out of the room.

Erik gently pulled the girl away from the mirror door and out of earshot. Once he was certain they were out of hearing, he whispered in the girl's ear,

"Are you all right?" she nodded "don't cry out." And he drew her further down the passage, "stay here, I am going to make certain he is gone."

Fallon didn't like the cold, damp passage, but she liked the idea of going back into the room while _He_ might be lurking outside even less, so she stood where she was told, shivering and wondering about her rescuer.

_Who was he? Where had he come from and why did he have hidden door in her room? How many times had he watched her before this?_ She drew her breath in sharply as she realized he probably knew her secret. _What did he want from her? _

He returned before her wondering could go any further. "He's gone, the hallway outside your room is empty and it should be safe enough for you to return."

She eyed him warily but followed him back through the door. "Sure and I'm grateful for what you've done, but I think you owe me an explanation, sir. Who are you and why were you hiding in me room?" As she spoke she got her first clear sight of the man and her eyes widen with shock as she saw the mask that covered his face.

Erik smiled under his mask, "I owe you nothing child and you owe me a great deal. Why I have a door in your room is none of your concern as I was here long before you were."

Fallon studied him carefully, but it told her little. How does one read a man who covers his face with a mask? "Why were you watching me? Why did you save me?"

Erik moved towards her slowly, wanting to see what her reaction would be. Fallon swallowed, a little unnerved by this man, but she refused to give ground and stared up at him unblinking as he towered over her.

"Because I heard you play, and I wished to hear your music again. You are a talented musician, and I wish to teach you. That is far more of an explanation than I believe I owed to you."

"What do you think you can teach me sir? I am after all, only an Irishman, and we learn slowly. At least, that's what the English have been telling us for the last eight hundred years."

Erik laughed, "You are no Irish_man, _my dear. How blind do you think I am?"

Fallon felt her face go red to the ears and she muttered something inaudible under her breath…

Erik laughed again, his inhumanly quick ears catching the muttered words, "I am quite certain that that is an anatomical impossibility, my dear. Now, I wish to hear you play again, get your violin. You will accompany me in _Celeste Aida_ from _Amor."_

For a moment Fallon's jaw hung open in astonishment at his incredible arrogance. "And just what makes you so sure that I want _you_ teachin' me? And what makes you think that you can just order me around like that?"

Erik took another step towards the girl, towering over her to look up at him, "Because I ask it of you, in return for rescuing you and because in _my_ opera all obey Erik's command, or suffer the consequences."

His voice was deep and mesmerizing and Fallon wanted desperately to shudder, to back away, to run, something, but his voice, that incredible, beautiful voice held her captive to its owner's will.

"Now child, you will get your violin and accompany me." Fallon nodded feeling frightened and elated at the same time. She walked over to her bed and pulled the violin out of its dusty, battered case. She checked its strings carefully as she came back over to where Erik stood waiting and on his signal began to play.

If his voice was beautiful when he spoke it was ethereal when he sang. Tears came to her eyes and she almost forgot to play, wanting to stop and listen to him sing, but she caught herself and continued his voice and the music of her violin blending to create a splendor of sound unlike anything she had ever heard.

When they were finished Erik turned to her and smiled with satisfaction "I will be back tomorrow night at the same time. Be here and learn these pieces." With that he laid a sheaf of papers on her bed and walked out of her room into the hallway, disappearing into the darkness.

As he left Erik made a decision. He was going to find the man that was threatening his student. If he came back again, Erik and his lasso would be ready. He was not going to allow this man to scare such a promising talent from his reach.

When Erik had gone Fallon sat on her bed and stared at the far wall wondering what she should do. If she stayed _He_ would be back, and this time Erik might not be there to save her. But if she left, where would she go? She had no promise of work anywhere else, and here she at least had a job and a- a teacher. She closed her eyes and sighed, she hadn't had a teacher since her father had died the year before.

Arrogant, overbearing and terrifying as he was, Erik's brilliance was undeniable. She couldn't run forever... One day _He_ would come upon her in a place where she could not run from him, at least here she had some protection and she knew, despite his arrogance, if Erik were there he would save her.

With that last thought her decision was made. She would stay, for a while at least.

**There you have it, chapter three, please read and review... the-lonely-child**


	4. An Cuimhin LEat An Oiche Ud? Part II

**June 20, 1874, Kilkenny, Ireland**

It was a quiet, cheerful evening in the O'Riley household, and a young girl of fourteen called Fallon was sitting on a stool by the fire playing The Wearin' O' the Green on her fiddle and smiling as she listened to her parents sing. Abruptly they were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Collin glanced apprehensively at the door and after a moment's hesitation rose to answer it.

"_He's_ here." Collin's face was expressionless, but his voice shook, whether with fear or anger, Fallon couldn't tell. "Catherine, hide Fallon."

Something in his tone had made Fallon's heart clench in her chest as her mother took her by the arm and pulled her toward the bedroom she shared with her husband. Fallon struggled a bit, looking back over her shoulder, curious to see who 'he' was, but finally she gave in to her mother and followed her to the little closet.

"Stay in there until you're father or I come for you, do you understand me Fallon? Don't come out, no matter what you hear! And be silent!"

Fallon had stared at her mother with wide fearful eyes, unable to respond. She had never heard her mother use that tone of voice before and it terrified her. She sat in the back of her parents' closet with her arms wrapped around her knees feeling that her happy, peaceful world was about to be shattered.

**July 28, 1876, Paris, France**

Fallon moaned in restlessness as she tossed on her bed, memories came gushing into her mind in a merciless stream. That horrible night came back with pitiless lucidity and pierced her heart. She was not asleep, but she wasn't truly awake either. She trembled on the edge of a nightmare, clinging to the last shreds of consciousness, trying to hold back the agonizing stream of memories.

The sound of his voice, cold and demanding, her father's angry defiance, her mother's voice, as she tried to reason with him. A gunshot, the sound of her father's anguished scream and the sickening thud of a body as it fell lifelessly to the floor, the door slamming and then only the sound of her father weeping as though he would never be able to stop.

She had burst out of the closet, forgetting her mother's admonishment to stay where she was and come running to her father's side. She found him kneeling on the floor, cradling her mother's motionless form and sobbing with demented grief. She approached and saw the blood soaking her mother's dark hair

Something had broken inside her and collapsed on the floor and laid her hand on her mother's cheek oblivious to the blood that ran down her palm as she did so. Her mother opened her eyes and seemed to be trying to speak; she reached a shaking hand up to her daughter's face but finally collapsed in silence. Fallon laid her head on her mother's shoulder and gave a keening moan of inexpressible grief.

Fallon writhed on her bed and finally managed to pull herself out of the painful mire of old memories. She sat up, put her face in her hands and to her surprise felt her face wet with tears. She hadn't realized that she had been crying. She wiped her face on her sleeve and climbed out of her bed knowing that even if she could sleep tonight, she didn't want to. Nightmares lurked in the back of her mind like ruthless predators waiting to catch her off guard.

She knelt down on the floor and drew her violin out from under her bed deciding to practice the music Erik had given her earlier that night.

She looked at it smiling with appreciation; it was unlike any music she had ever come across, "He must have written it himself," she said softly to herself as she settled her violin under her chin and began to play.

It was a soft sparkling ripple of eighth and sixteenth notes rising and falling in joyful, shimmering waves, so unlike its eccentric, shadowy architect. She sighed in pleasure and gave herself up to the music, fear of the nightmare she had just endured fading with the enchantment of the music, as she had known it would.

Madame Giry found that she was restive that night and decided that a. walk through the corridors of the opera might help her sleep. While she was walking down the hall in the back of the opera house she heard soft music coming from Christine's former dressing room. Unable to help herself she followed it down the hall stopping outside the door.

She closed her eyes and listened to the iridescent notes that poured from the room for several minutes, pleasure washing over her. Suddenly she felt the urge to speak with the young violinist, and she raised her hand and gently rapped on the door. No response, she knocked again, harder and the door fell open under her hand. There was the musician, sitting on the narrow bed, papers spread around her knees and a look of rapturous concentration her face.

Madame Giry did a double take, choking back a gasp of astonishment. She backed quickly out of the room and shut the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the wall beside the door pressing a hand over her mouth.

What should she do? Pretending she didn't know was probably safest, after all, the girl was doing no harm, and she would most certainly not be bothering her ballet girls. She was a good deal less trouble than a male violinist of the same age would have been. Madame Giry decided she would keep the girl's secret for the time being and see what came of it.

Fallon paid for the lack of sleep the next day; she could hardly keep her head up during rehearsal. They were getting ready for a production of Gluck's _Orfeo ed Euridice_ and she found herself fumbling with the notes far too often. Monsieur Reyer's glares were like daggers and the derisive laughter of the rest of the violin section made her cheeks burn but she pretended to ignore both hoping she could slip away for some rest when they broke for a meal.

She never got the chance, on the way to her room she was accosted by Jammes, who was eager to learn more about the handsome young violinist.

"Monsieur wait!" cried Jammes as Fallon saw her coming and made a desperate attempt to escape to her room before she was caught. She didn't much care for the company of other girls, there had been plenty of them in Kilkenny and they had always struck Fallon as childish and small-minded, with all their talk about clothes and which of the village lads was the best dancer.

And when you tried to bring up music, they weren't much interested unless you could play a jig or a reel for them to dance to. Try and speak to them about _Carman_ or _Faust_ and you would be lucky to get more than a blank stare in reply.

The village lads weren't much better, always trying to sneak a kiss or grabbing at you when you least expected it. No more manners than an ape, and if you tried to hold an intelligent conversation with them they lost interest. All in all, Fallon preferred the company of her family to that of other young people.

She plastered a smile on her face and waited for Jammes to catch up with her.

"Monsieur! So kind of you to wait," said Jammes, "I was wondering if you would like to take a walk around the opera with me."

Fallon continued to smile as she tried to devise a polite escape. She hadn't really thought of this aspect of her disguise. It had never occurred to her that any female would find _her _

… She groaned inwardly. She could think of no way to escape so she nodded her consent and allowed the girl to take her arm as they led her through the maze that was the Opera house.

She listened with half an ear to the girl's chatter and answered her questions about her life and her work in monosyllables. She was so tired! Why couldn't the girl just leave her alone like the rest of the people in this opera? What was so fascinating about an Irish violinist anyway?

She finally managed to escape an hour later when rehearsals started up again. She just managed to get through without falling asleep on her music stand. As she played she wondered just what she was going to do about Jammes…

Later that night after rehearsals were finished for the day Fallon sat in her room practicing the pieces Erik had given her the evening before and trying not to yawn. she had about two hours before he had said he would return.

The man was a demanding teacher; he had given her no fewer than eight pieces to learn. After shuffling through them she decided on _Romance No. 2_ by Beethoven. One of the man's sweeter pieces and a particular favorite of hers.

So absorbed was she in her music she didn't notice when Erik came into the room and stood behind her half an hour later, his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face. About halfway through the piece he settled his violin under his chin and joined her.

She didn't even turn around; she simply finished out the piece and moved on to the next, ignoring Erik entirely. The next piece she chose was a harsher piece, _Rondo_, a violin concerto. Erik followed her into it without hesitation. And so they went on for the next hour and a half.

When the time Erik had appointed for the lesson arrived Fallon lowered her violin and turned to Erik raising an eyebrow, but saying nothing.

"Where did a girl from the Irish countryside learn to play such a beautiful rendition of Beethoven?" he asked her quietly, a small half smile twisting his face under the mask.

"From a man with a desire to see his only child succeed where he could not. Are we through with the lesson for the evening?"

"Certainly not, I haven't even begun to teach you yet. I now know you're familiar with Beethoven; let's see how well you do with Bach."

For the next hour Erik tested her skills to the limit, pushing her into far more difficult music than he believed her capable of playing. He had a rather low opinion of Monsieur Reyer's standards for his orchestra and believed he had come upon Fallon out of sheer luck. He had assumed she was a talented, but under-taught. His assumption could not have been farther from the truth. Collin O'Riley had had a passion for the master composers and had taught his child well, hoping, as many parents do, to see his child live out the dream he could not.

"Very well," he said, after deciding he was getting nowhere with this, "you obviously have a firm grasp on the classics; let's see how well you sight read." And he pulled out a leather bound musical manuscript from within his dress coat.

He opened it to the first page and Fallon looked at it curiously, it was a piece similar to the one she had learned last night, but the notes were longer and deeper and the rhythm slower. She could hear the difference when the piece was played; it was profound and sweet, heartbreaking and achingly beautiful. It pulled painfully at her heart as she played and brought tears to her eyes so that she had to blink to read the music.

At the end of an hour Erik left, all in all he was impressed with his new student, she was as talented as he had thought, she had much to learn, but he could remedy that well enough. And as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he had been lonely since Christine had deserted him for that boy.

He suppressed a flare of rage and grief at those memories, he felt his jaw clench as he attempted to reign in his emotions and paused for a moment in the passageway behind the mirror to look back at his new student; she was sitting on her bed going over the new music he had left with her. He felt his lips twitch into a small half smile and continued on his way back to the house by the lake.


End file.
